


Kittens - The Experience

by konoyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing thank, Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konoyo/pseuds/konoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets turned into a kitten and everything is terrible. Well, maybe not everything.</p><p>(Destiel if you squint but tagged such because that was the intention)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kittens - The Experience

He might be shrunken down to the size of a small furball, but Dean is still Dean, through and through. Which is why he vocally (physically didn’t do much when he was fully human so there’s not even a point) protests to being cradled in Cas’ arms like some fragile thing. No, he demands to be taken seriously, demands that Sam take him along to find that son-of-a-bitch that turned him. Sam’s heading out to do research and call up some other hunters and ignores him as he usually does.

So maybe he didn’t exactly remember what happened, his body deciding to shut down as soon as he catified. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be useful! If anyone was petting him in his sleep though, they were going to have strong words on the subject as soon as Dean had human limbs to make “words” with.

The injustice of it all comes out as an embarrassing yowl.

Cas looks down at him, concerned. The asshole had chalked it all up to a witches’ spell and claimed to be oblivious to the rest and the witch himself is warded and untraceable which Dean thinks is utter bullcrap because what else did they have the walking, talking angelic encyclopedia of nastiness around for other than situations like this?

“I am sorry, Dean, but there is not much either of us can do in regard to this situation. Please try to understand.” His now huge ears are pressed up to the angel’s ribcage and he can hear the otherwise inaudible sigh. And now he’d really prefer to be let down. He has legs of his own, thank you very much, no matter how small they might be.

“I would like to let you down, Dean, but I am not sure how to do it without risking you dropping from a comparatively considerable height for your current stature.” Dean groans. It comes out as a strange chirping noise and he resolves never to do that again for the duration of this ordeal. He then realizes that the angel must still be able to read his mind, prayers, whatever. This is good news! Dean focuses and thinks/prays “hamburger” as hard as he can.

“I can’t hear your mind, Dean, not when you are like this. All I can sense is your disposition. No matter how hard you think, which I believe you are doing right now, abstract ideas will not translate.”

Scratch that, everything is terrible. Pun so not intended.

At least they aren’t at the diner anymore. If one more little girl ran up and wanted to hold him, he was going to start clawing some eyes out. As it was, he had to suck it up and let his poor body get dragged around and prodded while Sam snickered quietly back at their table.

The bastard.

\---

Castiel is distressed. He knows this emotion does not translate to his face very well but he is actually quite concerned about the orange tabby kitten currently clawing its way up his sleeve. It hurts slightly, he notes, as the tiny claws pierce through skin and he probably has holes in his shirt. But Sam had said it was better if his overcoat and jacket weren’t covered in cat hair as not even his ‘angel mojo could get that stuff out’. Also of note was that Dean would not enjoy his backseat covered in cat hair, even if it was, at one time, his own.  
Sam had groaned in the long-suffering way of his when they found what looked like a five week old kitten napping in a nest of Dean’s clothes on the kitchen floor, the remnants of a teleportation spell fading before him. He’d said he was at least glad he hadn’t killed his brother off even if this one was going to be a bitch to undo.

Castiel found he was glad of that, too, as a jolt of recognition passed between his grace and Dean’s soul as he picked the sleeping feline up. It was soft and small, and endlessly fascinating. It reminded him of what seemed like a lifetime ago, when Dean’s soul was nestled between what would be his wings if he was at all tied to the physical world. Tired and worn, it yet pulsed brightly, resonating with Castiel’s light, and growing brighter with every step away from hell. He liked that memory.

It was dark when he and Sam stepped outside, carrying a bundle each, but he hasn’t stopped looking, fingers stroking through the soft fur as Dean purred in his arms.

Now every time he tries to help, or touch Dean in any way, he gets clawed at.

Dean finally makes his way to perch on his shoulder and Cas gingerly bends his knees trying not to drop the shaky kitten too early. Once Dean feels like he can make the distance without too much damage, he launches himself off of his shoulder, landing in the middle of the bed on his back, having not only underestimated his strength but also expected to land on his back paws instead of all fours. He gets up in a huff and tries to walk, only to wind up face forward on the mattress again, his forgotten claws sticking through the sheets.

Cas smiles and Dean glares, an emotion clear as day even in his cat form. So Cas folds his hands under his chin and watches as the hunter gets acquainted with his new body through trial and failure but mostly testing out how far he can jump across the bed. Also he seems to be compelled to groom himself but does so with great embarrassment, scooting himself around to face away from the angel whilst preening between his hind legs.

He starts getting used to his body and the jumps begin to get more ambitious. Dean is prancing around on the bed now, so taken over by instinct he doesn’t mind that Cas is watching. The bedsheet must be riddled with little claw marks now. Dean scrambles to one of the corners, lining himself up for a long diagonal jump, haunches in the air in anticipation. A pregnant pause then he jumps, and Cas can already see that he’s missed, that one more fraction of a second and Dean with tumble off the side of the bed and his wings unfurl.

Dean is safe in his hands in the next instant, winded from the sudden change in momentum. A beat and they stare at each other. Dean is a shade of displeased but also slightly frightened. Cas figures he should explain himself. Nothing really comes to mind. The dust in the room settles again and Cas still hasn’t put him down. Another beat and the hunter shifts in his hands, hind legs and tail swinging under him and puts a paw on Cas’ nose, fond irritation radiating off of him.

Cas puts him back down.

“I would prefer you not get hurt, Dean. I’m not sure how well healing and resurrection would work when you are like this. You might just stay in a feline body.”

Dean flicks his tail and demonstrates a graceful jump from the bed to the floor. He’s learning. Castiel nods, then smiles as Dean fails to jump high enough to get back on the bed.

Dean refuses help and spends another quarter of an hour learning how to climb Cas’ leg back up. Once they’re finally settled, Cas fetches the remote for the TV. Dean insists on pressing the channels himself and bounces up and down on the bed until Cas turns on the Magic Fingers without depositing any quarters. It’s almost peaceful in the room as Dean finally settles on a channel, flicking his tail in amusement every time Castiel asks a question about the movie. 

By the time the credits roll, commercials coming to take their place, the bed has stopped vibrating and Dean is curled up on his lap, purring softly as Cas pets him, claws extending and retracting in pleasure. The angel isn’t sure if it’s an instinct or Dean has given up on resisting what he most certainly thinks is an indignant pastime. But he doesn’t much care. Cas mutes the TV and settles into the contentment of the room, watching the images flicker across the screen as the motel room slowly descends into evening twilight.

It’s how Sam finds them.

\---

“So get this, it’s both a transformation spell and a de-aging spell. Which is some serious magic, I mean, come on, people kill for de-aging spells.” Sam taps his pen on the book, thinking. “And the teleportation spell… We’re dealing with a powerful warlock.”

“It would appear so.” Cas has been scanning the vicinity idly for any reappearance of the culprit to no success but seems to be more amused with watching Dean turn his nose up at the cat food Sam had gotten from the store. Sam sighs. It’s been around 72 hours and he’s not any farther into the case. If it weren’t for Dean’s situation, he’d just give up on this completely. Dean been acting more and more like a cat recently and Cas is so completely covered in fur that Sam’s nose itches even if he doesn’t have any allergies.

“You don’t seem worried.”

“I can still sense his mind as well as his soul. He is still fully human albeit with feline instincts which are beyond his control.” Dean is preening again and Sam raises an eyebrow. Castiel shrugs. “He has been getting more sleep than he usually gets.” Sam groans.

“So you’re saying we should just let him stay a cat forever?” Dean has finished preening and the can of cat food is still untouched. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but Dean. Eat your food.” It earns him a nasty glare and he slides the tin in front of his recalcitrant older brother. Dean sniffs and looks away. “Fine, then, starve.”

“No, of course not,” is the angel’s level response as Cas ignores their antics. “Such magic often has a counter spell or simply wears off in time. If we could just find the war-” He stops in mid-sentence, and Sam looks up to see him staring off into the distance.

“What? What is it?”

“He’s back. The warlock came back to his house. He is there at the moment.”

\---

Dean hisses his displeasure as he takes in the all too familiar house, now from the angle of Cas’ coat pocket. They don’t try to sneak around this time and Sam bursts into the front door, gun at the ready. The warlock is waiting for them, of course, just as he was for Dean.

“Oi oi,” but why were they all English douchebags, why. Frankly, he is beginning to be suspicious of anyone with an accent these days. The man is tall and thin, with dark hair and oddly protruding ears. The first time Dean had seen him, he figured this was just some wimp dabbling in the dark arts to get a girl. Boy was he proved wrong. “Ah, aren’t you a cute little kitten.”

“Change my brother back,” Sam interjects saving Dean the indignity of trying to meow a fuck you.

“No can do, I’m afraid. Your jerk brother stays a cat-”

“Well, then I kill you.” Sam raises the gun a little, widening his stance.

The warlock makes a put upon face. “Not forever, for Pete’s sake. Though I’d like to see your try and kill me.” Dean hisses and Cas takes a step forward. The warlock sighs. “I can’t change him back. It’s a time based thing as you’ve probably gathered. So one or two more days and he’ll be back to killing things in no time.” There’s a tense pause and the man looks over the three of them. Dean hisses again, low and threatening. It has no effect. “Well, then, I only did come back to get some of my things. Good day.” And then he’s gone, leaving only a flutter of a blue neck scarf and the glow of the spell behind.

“Really?” is Sam’s response as he flips the safety back on the gun. “Did he come all the way here for a scarf? There’s no way he could not have known we were waiting for him. And that it would take us several minutes to get here. What’s his deal?” Dean agrees wholeheartedly. Should have put a bullet through that guy’s brain as soon as they saw him and figure this thing out on their own. A couple of more days though?

Well, maybe it didn’t sound too terrible. He curls himself back into the safety of Cas’ pocket. Maybe some string and some more petting… He stirs a little in embarrassment at the thought but the memory of Cas’ fingers rubbing behind his ears is far too pleasant to let go. Like clockwork, warm knuckles smooth across his spine and he purrs without regret, tuning out the conversation. Cas’ pockets are great, he decides. Cas is great. Gentle and attentive and doesn’t laugh at him when he’d accidentally found himself high off his head in a catnip bush outside the motel room window. The last thought as he goes to sleep is that he has to become human again, at least enough so he can show Cas how delightful petting is.

\---

There’s nothing left to do but watch the clock tick by. Fortunately, Castiel is good at that. Sam buries himself in research again and Castiel is on cat sitting duty. As it happens, there are not a large amount of businesses that allow pets to be brought in on premises.

Dean seems to be averse to the food that Sam brings back from the pet store but suffers quietly through the dry kibble and water he’s given. He still likes to be petted but never when Sam is around and has gotten into the habit of licking at Cas’ fingers, but always with an air of great embarrassment. The whole room smells like cat now and the brothers are both morose, probably at the lack of hunting. So when Sam identifies what could be a haunting in a nearby town, he is all too happy to take the Impala for a ride, even if Dean’s whole body language tells them he is betrayed by the indignity of it all. But a haunting is no place for a kitten.

The clock strikes midnight on that fourth day as they are watching a movie called To Kill a Mocking Bird. It seems to be about a lawyer and his daughter in the past in America. He’d missed the beginning and it’s hard to put together the pieces of what’s going on without the information. Sam had called perhaps an hour earlier, saying that the case was solved and he was heading back. He seemed a little less tense than before, but sounded put out when Cas had reported that Dean’s situation had not changed.

Dean is curled up in the crook of Cas’ elbow, napping through most of the things on the television. Castiel is about to ask if perhaps he should turn the TV off, even if he wouldn’t get any response, when the unexpected weight in his arms makes him pitch forward. Ah. Dean is back.

He’s still asleep and Cas doesn’t have the heart to wake him, even for the good news. Dean always looks peaceful when he’s sleeping.

However, he knows Dean would probably object to being naked around him and stands up, shifting the man’s weight to one arm so he can draw back the covers on one of the doubles, and puts Dean down. There’s no great explosion this time and no cross under which Dean is being resurrected but it reminds him of that moment anyway. Perhaps his one most cherished memory. He can’t resist and brushes his hand over the palm print on Dean’s shoulder, relishing in the little pulse of light that passes between them. But now he’s used up too much of Dean’s privacy.

He draws the covers over his sleeping charge and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. The room is clean when he thinks it, the remnants of cat hair and claw marks sealed up as if they never were. These couple of days of peace, away from it all, he will miss them. The TV shuts off without him having to even look at it. He perches still when Sam stumbles in, tired from the drive and mutters a ‘thank fuck’ before falling face first onto the bed. He sits until morning, watching the stars cross the horizon far, far away.

\---

Dean is chipper for the next couple of days. Singing and laughing, joking with Castiel more than usual. It’s actually unnerving, more unnerving than Cas’ usual head tilt staring into your soul business. Sam supposes this is what an extra day or two of sleeping and relaxing does to a man. Maybe he should try that out.

They’re back on the road and back on the hunt once again and four days of cat food has also made Dean cherish pie all the more fiercely. So they’re stocked with a good half a dozen of them because “Pie doesn’t go bad Sam, are you kidding,” and sitting in yet another themed motel room. Sam is at his usual spot, at the desk and at the computer, Castiel is at his usual spot, staring out the window and Dean is pacing the room between them, thumbing through dad’s journal. The case is vague at best and they don’t even know if there is one, but Dean insists.

Sam looks up to watch Dean pace, following his brother’s steps across and back towards the door but he blinks rapidly as Dean, still engrossed in reading, butts his forehead against Cas’ shoulder. The angel turns slightly, his hand rising as if to scratch behind Dean’s ear before he pauses, aware of the stricken silence in the room.

When no one says anything, Cas scratches behind Dean’s ear and rubs the back of his head and, wow, Dean visibly sighs before straightening and running his own fingers through the hair on the nape of the angel’s neck. Cas seems surprised and Sam can’t seem to pick his jaw up off the floor.

When he finally does, he clears his throat. “Should I get the cat f-”

“Nope, we’re done.”

Sam severely doubts it.


End file.
